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Authors: Christine Trent

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Nash and his wife, the former Mary Ann Bradley, made an unlikely pair. Unfailingly polite to each other both in public and in private, they seemed neither to be particularly enamored, nor to bear animosity, toward each other. Their marriage struck Belle as amiable but distant.
In fact, both husband and wife were warmer toward Belle than to each other. Peculiar, but no business of hers.
As with the books and drawings he had given her to study, Belle threw herself into absorbing everything the architect had to say about his past.
“I apprenticed in London under the great architect Sir Robert Taylor—did I not recommend you look at his work on the Bank of England?—but separated from him in 1778 after many years together, upon inheriting a substantial fortune from an uncle. I proceeded to invest the legacy in a property in the fashionable neighborhood of Bloomsbury, transforming a block of connected houses into one flamboyant, stuccoed mansion. London had never seen anything like it, and I was absolutely certain of its success.
“Yet it was not to be. That highly regarded architect and idiot Sir John Soane famously criticized it. The building was a financial disaster, and I am sad to say I declared bankruptcy in 1783.
“Some say it's unwise to both plan for structures as well as to be the project's financier,” he told Belle. “But I still think there is great profit to be had from such a scheme. I intend to try again one day.”
Nash went on to say that he returned to his birthplace of Wales and resumed work as an architect, focusing primarily on the design of country houses and expanding his work to include romantic landscape plans.
He eventually returned to London in 1796, his reputation restored and on parallel with that of other noted architects, such as Holland, Cockerell, Wyatt, and even Nash's biggest detractor, Soane. Nash thrust himself boldly into the London architectural scene, seeking high-profile work and traveling all over England and Ireland to pursue his projects. He picked up and dropped a variety of partners and assistants along the way. In 1798, he diverted his attention enough to marry Mary Ann Bradley.
“My bride was still a comely woman of twenty-five, even after bearing five children, and I was a mere lad of forty-six, Belle. And look at me! All squat bottomed, snub nosed, and squint eyed. One might call it a miracle that she married me. But then one wouldn't know how it was between us.”
Belle couldn't deny that even though Mrs. Nash was becoming plumper daily, she was still very striking, made more so by the various shades of yellow she preferred in her clothing. And Mr. Nash's kind and jovial nature went far toward obscuring his rather harrowing appearance.
During the early days of his marriage, Nash caught the attention of the Prince Regent, who admired the architect's grand, sweeping visions for home and streets alike.
“I am also a director of the Regent's Canal Company. We're going to provide a canal link from west London to the River Thames in the east. My plan is to run the canal around the northern edge of Regent's Park,” he said. “My man Morgan is handling the details now, although I'll be inspecting it when I return to check on other aspects of the Regent Street project.”
“I saw where the canal will start, sir,” Belle said excitedly. “I visited the park while studying everything you gave me.”
“Indeed, indeed. If all goes well, the first section should open in a couple of years. Perhaps you should accompany Mrs. Nash and me to see my work. Would you like that?”
“Yes, sir, I would.”
Nash shook his head, a broad smile on his face. “A young lady in my offices on the path to learning architecture. Oh, the order of the universe will be in upheaval, won't it? Greatly distressing. Greatly distressing, indeed.”
But Belle sensed that, quite to the contrary, her new employer was enormously satisfied.
 
Nash told Belle that she would not be permitted access to the Pavilion until presented to the prince there once again and the prince had not yet arrived for a visit. Some point of etiquette that must be obeyed, Nash said. So, each day while waiting, Belle helped in the office by straightening papers, sweeping, and greeting the occasional visitor.
In the evenings, Mrs. Nash sequestered her children away in their nursery and joined her husband and Belle in the library. Nash stretched out in front of the fire with a glass of port in his hand, and spent time quizzing Belle on what she'd learned about interior design thus far, but talking more about his opinions on the direction of design under the prince's influence. When Nash was done with lessons, he shifted conversation to more gossipy topics. Belle sat in rapt attention, listening to his stories of dealings with unscrupulous suppliers, sloppy craftsmen, and jealous competitors. But she was most drawn in by his stories of the Prince Regent.
According to Nash, George Hanover, the Prince Regent who would one day become George IV, had had a poor relationship with his father from the time he was just a young lad. The Hanoverian court was dull and moralizing, and provided no outlet for a high-spirited boy like the prince. In turn, the king viewed his son as self-indulgent and irresponsible.
The prince nursed his resentment of his father until it bloomed into a permanent rebellion and he set out to distance himself as far as he could from the family patriarch.
Because the king was a Tory and despised Whig politicians like Charles James Fox and Richard Sheridan—there was that name again!—both of whom sided with the American colonials against their king, his son immediately surrounded himself with both of these men.
The two men led Prince George down a merry path of debauchery. The king complained publicly that Fox was the one principally responsible for the prince's many failings, including wasteful spending and his propensity to vomit in public.
And because the king maintained an unusually chaste domestic life, the son made sure to be dissolute and wanton. The Act of Settlement of 1701 forbade marriage to any other than a Protestant, yet the prince had secretly married his beautiful Catholic widow, Maria Fitzherbert, in 1785.
Belle already knew the rest of this sordid story, but didn't want her new mentor to know that she had actually been gossiping with Lady Derby. What he revealed that Belle didn't know was that, even after his marriage to Caroline, the prince had continued his liaison with Maria Fitzherbert, not finishing with her permanently until last year.
He was currently taken with the Lady Hertford, who was turning his loyalties back to the Tories. A small comfort to his father. George III had been living in a blind, rheumatic, and nearly permanent insane state since 1810, obliging Parliament to install his son as regent two years ago.
Today, because the prince was a spendthrift in response to his father's lifetime of frugality, John Nash found himself the recipient of many lucrative contracts for improving the prince's various properties.
“The prince has an enormous appetite, both for food and love,” Nash told Belle. “Sometimes he is too ravenous for both, and diverts his own attention through these little building projects that greatly benefit my practice. And so, while you are working here, you will always speak highly of the prince no matter what you hear. Or what you may experience with him. Do you understand, Miss Stirling?”
She did, but why was such a warning needed?
 
Finally, the Prince Regent would be in Brighton in another two days. But first, Nash asked Belle to sign on at the circulating library.
“Here, take this,” he said, handing Belle some coins. “You'll need to give the master at the library this, and in turn you'll be able to sign the Master of Ceremonies book. Sign in as ‘Annabelle Stirling, ward of John Nash, the Prince Regent's architect.' ”
Belle was puzzled. “Why am I to do this?”
“The master ensures that balls held in the Castle Tavern don't conflict with those being held at Old Ship Inn. Therefore, he's the nucleus of society in Brighton. Once your name is in his book, everyone in town will know you're here and under some notice of the prince's. And that will lead to some social invitations for you, Miss Stirling. You're young and shouldn't be quite so serious.”
“I hardly think that while I'm here I'll have time for—”
“Maybe you will, maybe you won't. But it does no harm, does it?” His eyes crinkled in response to his smile, and Belle was helpless to refuse her new mentor.
That evening, she wrote to Wesley, telling him of her adventures to date, and of her planned visit to finally see the existing pavilion the next day. And to remind him to lay a yard or two of that new tambour-worked muslin in the window.
Belle and Nash set out the next day around noon, with Nash assuring her that the prince would most certainly not be awake and receiving guests before then. They approached the residence from what the architect referred to as the Steine front. A decorative fence partially enclosed an expansive, triangular-shaped green containing a stream ambling placidly through it. Homes surrounded the street that enclosed the green, including the Pavilion, which Belle thought had been accurately portrayed in Nash's drawings, except for the scaffolding that now climbed the exterior like an orderly creeping wood vine.
When the scaffolding was eventually removed, she knew the exterior would be rejuvenated in stucco and Bath stone.
Belle was anxious to see the interior of the prince's residence, but Nash held her back.
“I want you to understand this vista from the prince's perspective. The green here is where fishermen used to lay out their fishing nets for drying after bringing in their daily haul from the Channel. But the town began erecting the railing about forty years ago to contain the fishermen's activity, because fashionable visitors were offended by it while promenading near the prince's house. It angered the fishermen but pleased the prince, so ...” Nash shrugged. “The redbrick house you see to the right of the Pavilion? That will be demolished to make way for my additions.”
Nash then pointed to a row of houses on the west side of the Steine. “See those homes? All built in the last few years by London's elite who know that the prince now favors this coastal town. That one in the middle? It belongs to Maria Fitzherbert.”
“You mean ... ?”
“Yes, the prince's old mistress. She had this residence built in 1804, a half-dozen years before the two of them split permanently. She always maintained a separate residence from the prince, I suppose for appearance's sake. Yet she's decided to stay on. The lady is quiet and gracious, and hasn't a spiteful bone in her. But it's best not to mention her to the prince. He still harbors a passion for her, among others.”
Nash turned and swept a hand in the direction of the lawn leading toward the Pavilion. “That section of the prince's lawn was once part of the Steine, but has of course been acquired for his use. I predict Brighton will one day surpass places like Bath as a retreat for the beau monde, provided the prince maintains his passion for the place. And we, Belle, shall be the ones to help them establish their fine residences and keep up with changing décor tastes, will we not?”
“It's too exhilarating a thought to really grasp.”
He smiled at her as though she were his favorite niece. “Let's go see the Pavilion now, shall we? Oh, by the way, Mr. Crace will be meeting us here, as well.”
So she would finally get to meet one of the prince's artist-designers.
They strolled the lawn up to the home that until now she'd only seen from a distance, and more intimately in Nash's drawings. The interior was a beehive of activity, with workers having torn out so many walls and floors that Belle couldn't begin to assess where she actually was in relationship to the drawings.
Nash led her down a long corridor, through another space that was either another hallway or perhaps a large pantry, and into a cavernous space under construction. Along one side was a gigantic cooking-sized fireplace being swarmed over by masons.
“The kitchen?” she asked.
“Yes. There will be rooms far grander and more magnificent, but this one is a source of great pride for me. And it will be the first room to complete.” He pointed to the fireplace. “The fireplace will contain a smoke jack. The upward draft from the fire will turn a metal turbine in the chimney, and a series of gears, pulleys, and chains will transfer the motion to a set of five spits. The prince's chef will be able to present multiple roasted dishes for any given menu. There's nothing of its design anywhere else in England.”

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